Driven
by Momo Cicerone
Summary: He wonders, for a second, if ghosts can cry. (When you can't untie yourself from the past, and holding on to a memory makes moving on so much difficult)—[ShinShi] [CoAi] Part of the 100 Ways to say I love you challenge.


**Prompt:** 10\. "I'm sorry for your loss."

 **Warning:** Major character death ; suicidal thoughts mentions ; speculated dementia/insanity

 **A/N:** Sorry to break the happy fic streak but I've been dying to write a ghost fic since 5ever. Also a part of my 100 Ways To Say I Love You Challenge for this pairing.

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The girl with strawberry blonde hair stands barefooted by the balcony, the hem of her ragged white dress flapping in the wind. The air is warm and welcoming; it carries out the faint scent of primroses from a wilting bouquet of flowers dying on an ornate crystal vase. Next to it, a cropped out monochrome picture, red apples on a bowl, the remains of burnt out incense sticks on a dark ceramic pot. Twilight starts to fade, and burnt orange sunrays kiss her skin one last time as she goes back into room. The girl stands before the improvised shrine, glassy eyed and bored expression.

"Your flowers are dying." Soft and quiet, her voice feels like a whisper inside the evening breeze; barely audible, yet enough for him to hear.

"H…Hey," The boy lying on the worn out couch almost falls over at the sound of her voice, startled. Sitting up, he rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands before gazing at her, an apologetic smile on his lips. "Ah, yeah. _Those_. I'm sorry, I'll change them tomorrow."

"You don't have to." Shiho's fingers intertwine behind her back, eyes pensive. She tugs one corner of her lip in an almost-derisive smile. "You know I don't like flowers. Just throw them away."

Shinichi takes a second before he scoffs, "That's bullshit. I know you love flowers."

"Not these." The girl says, her finger grazing over a withered petal of dull white. It falls gracefully over the wooden table, making his heart twist at the sight. "Not your primroses. Or your pink camellias, carnations. Your purple hyacinths... I want none of those."

The boy doesn't reply her right away, instead he watches her in silence as she slowly turns her face back to him and their eyes meet. His chest tightens, air refusing to come out as if he'd forgotten how to breathe. She stands there, in the middle of his living room — _a hand he can't hold, lips he can't kiss, face he can't never_ _ **ever**_ _forget how to remember_ — and she's as real as the beating of his heart and the trembling on his hands, as real as any memory he didn't capture in his head. Overwhelmed, his eyes burn red, temples pounding.

" _I…_ " The hoarseness makes his voice break, so he clears his throat. "Would you rather have roses instead?"

"No flowers," She insists, tone adamant. Her lips pout a little before she adds, "Flowers die."

Shiho tears her gaze away from him and, with a swirl of her heels, heads towards the kitchen counter. Her white dress brushes against her bare ankles as she walks.

" _Right_ ," He agrees. Eyes on the floor, he brings one hand to cover his face. "Right."

"Don't cry."

"I'm not crying."

" _Liar_."

"What do you care?"

For a long moment, she doesn't say anything at all, and a few seconds later he peeks over his fingers to make sure she's still there.

"You've become a hermit." Shiho remarks when their eyes meet again, a look between judgmental and scornful, "When's the last time you've had an actual conversation with someone?"

"I have plenty of friends to talk to, thank you very much." Shinichi says bitterly.

"Yet here you are, talking to no one. _My, my_ … what is this? Has The Great Detective of the East lost his mind?"

He chuckles out humorlessly, eyes fixed on her. Her reddish blonde hair. The peculiar hue of jade under thick eyelashes. Rosy lips against pale, pale skin. He remembers every detail with such devastating accuracy that it pains to behold… but it'd hurt worse to look away.

"And who's to blame for that, huh? It's _your fault_ for—" Shinichi pauses, mouth dry. Whatever words he means to say just refuse to come out of his lips. He swallows with difficulty through the lump on his throat, blinking tears back. " _It's your fault_. And I'm holding you accountable, so don't you dare leave me. Not yet. _You owe me_."

Her eyes darken to a shade of midnight blue he remembers all too well: clouded with sadness yet denied of tears, they shimmer under the dim lighting on the kitchen. He wonders, for a second, if ghosts can cry.

" _You have to let me go_."

"No."

" _Kudo-kun—_ "

"No!"

"You know I'm stuck here unless you—"

"You know I can't!"

"You have no right to say that when you're not even _trying_."

He lets out a laugh that borderlines on maniac, making her flinch at the sound.

"Do you want to switch places with me? Then _be my fucking guest_ , Miyano."

"That's not funny."

"It's not supposed to be."

"You can't keep me here forever, Kudo-kun. I'm sorry for your loss, but you have to let me go. Better sooner than later."

"Now, that's ironic." He laughs dryly, this time unable to control the tears that gush out from his eyes. He wipes them away furiously, hands quivering. "I don't want your damn apology. _I'm sorry I died on you_ doesn't quite cut it for me this time. And why is that you want to leave me, _again_ , that badly? Don't you love me anymore?"

She glares at him, both hurt and offended.

"You know I have long since been stripped from the right to answer that question. And even if I could, what good would it do to give you reasons to keep me anchored to this world? _You_ , more than anyone should know that I don't belong here."

Slowly, the boy gets up from his seat and shuffles towards the opposite side of the kitchen counter. Face to face with her, his hand reaches out, making a motion to touch her cheek, but his fingers only catch into thin air.

"Then give me one good reason why I shouldn't become a part of yours. One is enough."

This time he sees it clearly: her face contorts with pain and suddenly, her cheeks are wet with tears.

" _I forbid you_." She breathes, chest heaving.

Shinichi stares back at her with utmost adoration. The chuckle that comes out of his lips sounds genuine this time.

"Of course you do." He tries, unsuccessfully, to sound amused. "So I won't for now, at least not on my own volition." The boy's smile is stiff, it almost resembles a grimace. "But you should know that I'm not going to live forever. And I know it's selfish of me to ask you this, but can you wait for me?"

He almost expects her to scold him.

She doesn't.

Her hands reach out and, cupping his face —he _swears_ , for a brief second, that the itchy feeling on his cheeks comes from the touch of her fingertips on his skin— lets her gaze lock with his.

"I'm not going anywhere." Shiho sighs, "Where could I go without you anyway?"

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(A bouquet of forget-me-nots blooms on an ornate crystal vase over the table of an improvised shrine.)

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 **A/N:**

 **Some fun facts on flower language:**

Pink carnations— I'll Never Forget You

Pink camellias— Longing for You

Purple hyacinths— I Am Sorry; Please Forgive Me: Sorrow

Primroses— I Can't Live Without You

Forget-me-not— Self-explanatory but also True Love; Memories

 **Reviews are extremely appreciated!**


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